


Sticky

by SkinSlave



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band), Rob Zombie (Musician)
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Condoms, Glory Hole, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nonmonogamous Relationship, Oral Sex, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:14:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23253787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkinSlave/pseuds/SkinSlave
Summary: Two touring musicians are brought to one place for very different reasons.TW: Twins of Evil 2 tour, coincidence, dumb nicknames, off-camera femdom, flipped.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

The floor was sticky. The floors were always sticky. He loved it, the way his shoes squeaked. He kept the brim of his ball cap pulled low, just in case. 

The side entrance had promised that he wouldn't have to deal with the bookstore, but it lied. At least the desk clerk didn't make him wait. $10 bought a theater card with a $5 credit. He took long steps to get back to the dark.

Lucky booth #6 was open. It wasn't the worst he'd seen. Marilyn took off his hat and jacket and tossed them on the far end of the bench. He used his cell camera as a mirror and primped a little: stylishly messy hair and dollar store whore-red lipstick. Not that anyone could see. He checked the hole in the wall for splinters and covered the ones he found with duct tape from his pocket.

No one could say he wasn't a gentleman.

Since he had a credit, he swiped the card on the film system's reader. A few of the buttons were covered in tape. There wasn't much on offer, but the longer he sat, breathing in the sweat and cheap grape lube, the better everything looked. He picked a bisexual gangbang, pulled his jeans down around his thighs, and settled in.

Heavy boots came down the hallway. Marilyn could hear doors opening and closing. He knelt at the wall and set his fingers on the lip of the hole. That seemed to be what Mr. Boots was looking for. The door lock clicked and a zipper came down.

The first thing that came through the hole was a manicured hand holding 2 condoms. Marilyn picked the cherry flavor. The hand withdrew and was replaced by a thick, pink cock. It bobbed in the window.

He tore the condom open and rolled it down. As much as he missed the days of bare skin, it was quite a sight. Like a steak wrapped in red cellophane. He gave it a few strokes and felt Boots widen his stance.

With a soft sigh, Marilyn pressed a kiss to the head. Even with the colored condom, the lip print was visible. He licked it away, oily wax and fake fruit. It was a ritual of sorts, the first taste, swallowing his illusions.

The porno drowned out the wet sounds. The corners of his mouth stretched as he tried to take it deeply. Boots rocked forward and shoved it to the back of his throat. Marilyn coughed, thick drool washing his lipstick down his chin, and went back for more.

Below the action, his hand found his cock. He pressed it down toward the floor and rubbed with his palm. The pad below his fingers caught the coronal ridge. His eyes fluttered closed and he dove toward the wall, choking himself.

The film clicked and stopped. He heard Boots for the first time, muffled heavy breathing. Marilyn wrapped his painted fingers around the base of the cock and gave short, tight strokes while he focused on the head.

"Yeah…" 

Boots whispered in the way men do when no one else is around. Marilyn moaned around his cock. He was exactly where he wanted to be, on the edge of existing, invisible and nameless, a wet place to be used and forgotten. The shame and freedom and emptiness were the perfect balm for the searing heat of his daily life.

He shifted his grip, pressing and stroking different areas with his thumb. He knew he'd hit the right spot when he felt Boots shift again and press into the wall. He kept his hand right there and sucked steadily on the head.

"Sh-hi-t," Boots hissed. "There. Yeah."

He sounded like he was getting close. Marilyn chased him down, his own cock slippery under his fingers. His thighs shook. His jaw started to ache. If Boots could just pull his hair and call him pretty, he could finish. As it was, his orgasm hung heavy in his gut, so close and still out of reach.

Instead, he focused on the cock in his mouth. It was hot and so hard it could chip teeth. He took it as deep as he could and swallowed. Boots groaned and humped against the wall. It creaked. He slid his thumb between his lips to work that special nerve.

Boots went quiet for a moment, then let out a low, breathy grunt. Marilyn could feel it, the rhythmic pulsing down the shaft, the filling of the condom's reservoir. He could almost taste the cum. Moaning, he found his own cock again and jerked fast. The edge was right there.

Boots slipped out of his mouth but didn't walk away. There was no way he couldn't hear the slick of his fist. Maybe he was texting for an Uber or telling the wife he was on his way. Maybe he was green and wondering what the proper etiquette was.

"I can… if you want…"

The quiet offer was awkward, forced. But if he wanted to help, why not let him?

"Say my name," Marilyn whispered.

"I don't know your name."

That did it. The room went dark. His body went rigid. He was caught in a long, tight moment of agony. With a strained moan, he bent double and shuddered. Spurts of cum splattered the wall and the waistband of his jeans. He couldn't breathe.

"Shit," he panted. "Fuck.  _ Fuck." _

The universe turned right-side up again, throwing Marilyn against the wall. He blinked hard and shook his head, trying to clear the static. His body turned to raw meat and folded.

Somewhere out there, Boots cleared his throat. The door opened and closed. It didn't matter. He was as much a prop as Marilyn was, a way to connect to a distant past.

That past was thick and cheap and alive. Shoplifted lipstick and four loads a night, rubbing nameless cum into the cuts on his chest, his net worth in his back pocket. No gimmick, no expectations. No need to think. No future. Just drinking the danger and the dark. Then, the more money he made, the fewer risks he could afford.

Groaning, Marilyn reached for the wad of paper towels in his pocket. His cum had gone cold and wiping at it seemed to make the mess worse. Still, he wasn't just going to leave it. He scrubbed at the stains on his jeans and around his mouth. 

His leg hurt. He tried not to let it show, heading back toward the shop, hat pulled down over his eyes. The clerk was stocking a display of flavored condoms. Marilyn glanced down as he passed. Tennis shoes.

He lingered in the hallway to the side entrance, letting his feet stick to the floor. He didn't want to run into anyone who might be waiting for their ride. He didn't want his Uber to arrive. He wanted to stay, to be young and sticky and free.


	2. Chapter 2

The floor was sticky. He knew that was a running gag for places like this, but somehow he thought it was an exaggeration. It wasn't. It was disgusting. Cheeks burning, he pulled his hoodie forward, just in case.

The venue tech said a separate side door should take him straight to the booths. Instead it brought him to the cashier. He kept his voice low. It was $10 to get in, but he got a $5 credit that the clerk let him use on condoms.

Someone was playing a porn movie. Despite his nervousness, Rob felt a twinge of excitement. He'd never done anything like this before. Well… there was that time in high school, when he snuck into a bathroom with Sam Riggs. But it was nothing like this, rows of what looked like dressing rooms with numbers on the doors.

As he opened one door, then another, he reminded himself that this wasn't his idea. He wasn't some sleazy old man looking for a thrill. He was doing this for her. Sheri's fantasies could be out there, but he'd do anything to please her.

Finally he saw a set of fingertips through the wall. He went in, closed the door and locked it. His heart was racing. He pulled his hoodie off, unzipped and found his cock was already standing. She'd want to see it. Despite the shitty lighting, he got a decent picture on his phone.

The internet said that providing flavored condoms was a courtesy. He wasn't sure what to get, so he offered a few packages through the opening. Whoever was there took one. After snapping another quick pic with the gloryhole in frame, he slid his cock through.

The hands that grabbed at him were big and a little rough. It was a man. Of course it was a man. He knew it would be. But feeling the strong fingers stroking made it real. He shivered and spread his feet a bit wider. This was it. He was going to be sucked off, by a stranger, in a random city along the tour route, because she wanted it.

He could feel a set of lips on the head, then a broad tongue. He wondered what he looked like, what his name was. It seemed cruel to think of him as just a mouth. But he definitely was leading with his strengths. It felt amazing, even through the condom. He rolled his hips and closed his eyes.

Through the tinny fake moans of the Mouth's movie clip, Rob tried to focus. She would ask him to describe it in detail. He needed to remember. It was difficult. He couldn't quite let go of the image of Sheri listening to his report, her eyes cold, her fingertip tracing a line along her inner thigh, back and forth.

The Mouth dove onto his cock, spreading thick spit around the hole. He was eager. He wanted to suck it, wanted to make Rob cum. The film stopped abruptly and low slurping sounds replaced it. Someone was panting. Oh. He was panting.

One of the hands gripped the root of his cock and jerked firmly. Still, the mouth didn't stop. He swallowed hard and looked down. He couldn't see anything under his balled-up t-shirt. But he knew it was there. The Mouth, the man, practically begging.

"Yeah…"

Rob bit his lip too late to stop his voice. A deep moan vibrated over his cock. The Mouth enjoyed it. He knew that satisfaction of a job well done. Still, he didn't want to be recognized. All the sunglasses in the world wouldn't help if the Mouth knew his voice.

The hand on his cock moved around, searching. When it found the right spot, he had to lean his hips against the wall to stay upright. It was the place he squeezed when he jerked off… when Sheri allowed him to jerk off. The lips stayed around the head, sucking and sucking.

"Sh-hi-t," he whispered. "There. Yeah."

He was so hard, so hot, he couldn't reign it in. An orgasm began to coil low in his gut. He splayed one hand on the wall next to his face, fingers trying to hold on. His brain screamed to back up, pull out. He couldn't cum without permission and there was no one there to ask. Instead, he leaned even harder into the wall, grinding against it.

He was so close, every cell on edge, from his nipples to the soles of his feet. The Mouth sucked him in deep, somehow working him with both his throat and his hand. Rob groaned with effort. A tear slipped free. He wasn't going to be able to hold it. The shame made it worse.

He made a sound that he hoped wasn't a scream. Even though it felt like he was flopping on the floor, he stood steady. The condom filled, warm and thick. The Mouth kept going, lapping and making little sounds, until he stumbled back from the wall.

The latex sleeve hung heavy on his softening cock. Rob slid it off and dropped it into the small trash can in the corner. He looked around for tissues. Nothing. That shame, so delicious just minutes before, was cold and clammy, drying on his skin. He swallowed his disgust and tucked his cock back into his jeans.

The Mouth was giving his hell for leather. Rob stared at the hole, his stomach churning. If he just left, would Sheri put him in a cage for selfishness? If he jerked him off, would she call him filthy names and milk him to gay porn? There was no safe option.

"I can..." he whispered, "if you want…"

He was praying for silence or polite dismissal. The moist glide of the Mouth's fist over his cock counted time so fast and way too slow.

"Say my name."

Rob's heart fluttered. He thought that was the point of a gloryhole… to be anonymous. Had he missed something? He looked around, then back at the dark opening.

"I don't know your name."

The Mouth sounded like he was having a heart attack. The wall creaked under his weight. He cursed under his breath. His orgasm was no relief for Rob. His mind reeled. Did he make the man cum? He didn't touch him, but he offered, and the smell of hot chlorine was seeping into his skin, the smell of cum, another man's cum.

He coughed nervously and wrestled with his hoodie until he was reasonably invisible. He left the stall and the Mouth behind. The light of the store flashed for a split second as he nearly ran through it.

The short, dark hallway to the parking lot took hours to walk. The nasty floor clung to his boots. It didn't want him to leave. It knew. The universe knew. Sheri knew.

He burst into the chill of the night, pawing at his pocket. He told the app that he was at the diner down the street. It wasn't a great improvement, but he needed plausible deniability. Once everything was confirmed, he started walking.

His phone chirped. It was Sheri. He stopped on the sidewalk. A smile slid over his face. She was pleased. She wanted to hear all about it when she met them in a week. In the meantime, he would be allowed to masturbate as many times as he wanted… provided, of course, that he was thinking about his next assignment when he came.

Next time, he would return the favor.

Rob started walking again, a blush rising on the back of his neck. No matter what apprehension he felt, he'd do it. He'd wait for a night when Manson disappeared - probably just to get some peace - and slip out on his own. He'd find a local crotch shop and choose a stall…

His cock twitched in his jeans. It was stuck to his underwear. Despite his clean diet and manicured hands, some part of him was just as dirty as the "theater" floor. It was shameful and sticky and new. And he loved her for helping him find it.


End file.
